


Waiting, Wishing

by thekingslover



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Early Relationship, First Kiss, Love Confessions, M/M, Misunderstandings, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:40:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27786124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thekingslover/pseuds/thekingslover
Summary: Nicolò had stood as a statue on the dock and watched his friend, his companion, his secret love sail away.Now, Nicolò waited on the same dock, expecting Yusuf’s return.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 22
Kudos: 372





	Waiting, Wishing

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on my joenicky tumblr sideblog, monicashipsnickyjoe. Main blog is thekingslover.

They had split a year ago to the day, for the first time since destiny had tied them together on the battlefield. On this same dock, Yusuf had taken Nicolò’s hand, sparking the embers of this new thing between them, and promised, “I will return.”

_I could go with you_ , Nicolò had wanted to say, but struggled with voicing his thoughts. He hadn’t wanted to burden Yusuf with his growing infatuation. And too often, the words he meant to say came out twisted, misunderstood in Yusuf’s language or his own. Instead, he’d learned to embrace silence.

So Nicolò had stood as a statue on the dock and watched his friend, his companion, his secret love sail away.

Now, Nicolò waited on the same dock, expecting Yusuf’s return. He worried his hands together, nerves on a static edge, watching ship after ship pull into the harbor and not one bearing Yusuf. 

As the morning drew to afternoon to evening, his pacing wore a groove in the wooden boards. Nearby sailors called him Watchman, and laughed as he circled round again, for the thousandth time. Some offered food, which Nicolò refused. When Yusuf arrived, he would no doubt be hungry. Nicolò had supplies at his rented house for a feast to share. He would not waste his appetite. If he had one.

No. Food, he refused. With the way his stomach tumbled, he doubted he could keep it down anyway.

Next, they offered alcohol. They meant to calm him, and Nicolò thanked them for it. But, no. He needed his wits. If Yusuf did not arrive… If Nicolò was alone… Then, perhaps… But, no. Yusuf was coming. He had promised. Nicolò would not muddle their reunion with drink.

He met the edge of the dock and turned once more. A new ship was pulling into harbor, a fishing boat with discolored, patched sails. The men aboard each had thick beards and wild hair, but Nicolò spotted Yusuf easily. Beard or no beard. Hair in curls or shorn short. Nicolò would know the shape of his love from any distance. Wide shoulders. Easy smile. Kind eyes.

Nicolò moved without knowing it, legs bringing him to the end of the lowered gangplank. He earned sideways looks from a few older fishermen as they departed. But then Yusuf was there. Yusuf was stepping onto the gangplank and the dock. Those kind eyes found Nicolò, and Nicolò was whole again.

But then, the easy smile Yusuf held for the fishermen slipped from his handsome face. He stared at Nicolò, searching. Nicolò had shaven that morning, in anticipation, and cut his hair. He wanted to look much the same as when Yusuf left. He hadn’t wanted Yusuf to know how wretched he was without him. How for months, he had let his hair and beard grow. The days between baths had stretched long. He had still eaten fine. Still fought as they always had, traveling long roads and protecting innocents. Each night, he had stared at the stars and thought of Yusuf.

“Nicolò,” Yusuf said, in a dull uncaring tone that he had not used even in the very beginning when they were still turning their swords onto each other.

“Yusuf.” Yet as Nicolò’s heart sank from Yusuf’s coldness, he could not keep the tiny smile from his own lips. Here was his love again, before him. After a year of solitude, Yusuf was once again at his side.

Yusuf’s attention snapped to Nicolò’s lips, no doubt seeing that smile, that joy. His brows lifted and his lips parted as if for a breath.

_Words_ , Nicolò reminded himself. Before Yusuf left, Nicolò had embraced silence. Since his absence, he had learned to hate it.

“I have missed you,” Nicolò said, in Yusuf’s native language. He had been practicing, when he could.

Yusuf’s eyes widened, as if the words surprised him. “You have?” he asked back, in Nicolò’s language.

Nicolò thought he might have made an error, so he said again, in his own language this time, “I have missed you, Yusuf.”

Yusuf looked no less flabbergasted.

Nicolò’s nerves, ebbed in the moment of their reunion, returned tenfold now in Yusuf’s lingering silence. They itched like spiders crawling under is skin, and he wanted to scratch and scream and jump into the harbor – whatever would get Yusuf to tell him what was so shocking about his affection.

“Is that,” Nicolò swallowed, “unwelcomed?”

Finally, _blessedly_ , Yusuf’s face relaxed. His eyes were still guarded, his mouth a tight line, but no longer a frown.

“Nicolò. Before I left, you had not spoken more than my name for six months.”

Nicolò’s lips pulled downward.

“You must admit that the air between was not… comfortable,” Yusuf said.

Nicolò’s heart dropped down into the dark, damp pit of his stomach.

“You must have felt it too,” Yusuf said.

Nicolò lowered his gaze to his boots. He’d cleaned away the dust and dirt of his travels before coming to the docks. They shined now, in the setting sun, a stark contrast to the weather-worn wooden beams of the dock. He should have left them dirty. He should not have come today at all.

“Nicolò?” Yusuf asked, inching closer. Yusuf’s boots were layered with sea-salt. “Have I said something wrong?”

Nicolò shook his head. “I am sorry that I make you uncomfortable.”

“No. I must be saying it wrong,” Yusuf said, speaking quicker now. “I meant in the past. Not now. I am comfortable now.”

No, Yusuf didn’t understand. Nicolò, still avoiding Yusuf’s eyes, tried in his language. “I will make you uncomfortable again.”

“But you are speaking to me now,” Yusuf said, again in Nicolò’s language.

Nicolò was going to have to say it, to get Yusuf to truly comprehend. “Yusuf.”

“If we keep talking,” Yusuf went on, “then I don’t see why we would –”

“I still love you,” Nicolò interrupted him. He lifted his gaze to Yusuf’s once more, in time to see him stunned into silence. His eyes widened again. His brows nearly touched his hairline. “As before. That hasn’t changed.” Nicolò waited, but Yusuf only stared. His mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water, with no sound coming out. “So I will make you uncomfortable again.”

Yusuf blinked once, twice. “You love me?”

In Yusuf’s language, Nicolò said again, “I love you.”

Yusuf’s brow lowered. His eyes softened, impossibly fond, and sparkling in the nearing twilight. He looked at Nicolò like a precious thing. Then, he laughed, not unkindly, and Nicolò missed the sound so much, he gasped.

“Nicolò.” Yusuf stepped closer. He reached and placed his hand at the corner of Nicolò’s jawline, finger and thumb on Nicolò’s cheek and the rest warm on his neck. “My Nicolò.”

Nicolò’s heart returned to life, soaring high with the overhead birds heading out to sea. “Yusuf?” Did this mean…? Could Nicolò’s feelings not be so one-sided after all?

Yusuf leaned forward, light and promise in his gaze. “Nicolò, I…” He stopped himself, looking past Nicolò, over his left shoulder.

Nicolò looked too.

They had gained an audience of fishermen and sailors. Many, smiling. A few, cheering. Most, drinking.

“I have a house,” Nicolò said, voice low, for Yusuf alone.

Yusuf brushed his thumb along Nicolò’s cheekbone. “Take me there.”

Nicolò took Yusuf by the hand and led him from the docks. They walked along the streets of the city as night set in and the moon rose high.

Behind the closed door of Nicolò’s rented house, Yusuf pushed Nicolò against the wall, combed his fingers through Nicolò’s hair, and said, “I love you.” Then he claimed Nicolò’s lips. He’d already claimed his heart long ago.

He smelled of fish and the sea. His clothes were damp with ocean spray. His lips were chapped from the sun.

But he was perfect, and lovely, and for the first time since they parted, Nicolò was home again.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading :)


End file.
